


i won't set my sights on other seas

by stephtron312



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, and does like whatever the opposite of cockblocking is, basically the fic version of a shitpost, but it's the fun kinda dumb i hope, i know that this is dumb, tormund tries to flirt but he's bad at it, where he's sooo bad at wooing brienne he just ends up helping jaime out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephtron312/pseuds/stephtron312
Summary: Tormund seeks out Jaime's advice on the Southern way of wooing, but he doesn't exactly get the results he was hoping for.





	i won't set my sights on other seas

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone know that scene in Boy Meets World where Eric gets told he can't be the best man so he decides the be Dramatic and proposes to Topanga, and he like sweeps his cloak back and is just Doing The Most? Well, I was clearly in a fugue state while watching that the other day and this stupid idea got stuck in my head, and just wouldn't leave me alone until I put it down. Figured I might share it with anyone else who just wants some light, crack-adjacent fic to lighten their day!! 
> 
> Title from the song Archie, Marry Me by Alvvays

Tormund Giantsbane wasn’t what the southron lords would call a smart man. He could not read well, wrote worse, and his ability to understand a subtle hint was not at all present. But he could fight better than most, and he laughed louder than all. And for all his faults he could see with very clear eyes the way Brienne of Tarth’s entire facial expression changed when a certain other knight came within ten feet of her presence.

He had watched her closely, her big blue eyes rounding with softness at the one-handed man. The way the corners of her mouth struggled against a smile just at his shabby appearance. Certainly the way her cheeks grew red as Lady Stark’s hair when he said anything with that joking glint in his eyes, and a sideways smile on his much too angular jaw. When Tormund said what he considered a flirtation of the same ferocity all he ever got was a sneer and if he was lucky an eye roll _in_ his direction.

Still, he knew this king killer, Kingslayer, sister-fucker, southron lordling man was no match for him. And certainly if he had wanted to actually be with the beautiful giantess, he would have already done something about it. It’d been nearly nine days since Jaime Lannister came to Winterfell and he had made no such moves that would be considered courting by either a kneeler nor a wildling. It was with this confidence that this lion of old was no competition for him that Tormund cornered him at the evening meal one day.

“King killer,” he said, a smile on his wide jovial face as he sat himself across from the man.

“Jaime is fine,” his green eyes narrowed, “ _Ser_ would be better.”

Tormund rolled his eyes, “You southron’s with your fancy names. So many ser’s running around how do you know when anyone’s talking to you and not some other knight?”

“Is there something you needed?” Jaime ticked, shoveling another forkful of potatoes into his mouth. His eyes flitted around the room, but not finding what he was searching for Jaime leveled them on Tormund again.

He could see the wildling was attempting to find the right words, which was completely unlike him. He was fidgeting in his seat, mouth opening and closing several times as he huffed and puffed. Finally he settled. “I want you to tell me how it’s done.”

Jaime paused, fork middair, waiting for the rest of the sentence but it seemed that was all the man had come up with. “Get a bit more specific, _please_.”

The man took another great sigh, his blue eyes closing and face contorting into what Jaime could only describe as pained humility. “I only know the ways of the North, the true North. And they’re not working as I would hope, though I know she’s got some north in her. You don’t get that big without some giant in ya blood!”

He was muttering more to himself than Jaime, and the knight had no choice but to cock an eyebrow at the man through his odd musings. He was only half listening anyway, eyes checking the doorway to the Great Hall every few moments, wondering when the wench would finally come in for a meal.

“What I’m trying to say,” Tormund’s large hand shot out, grabbing at Jaime’s forearm. “Would you teach me how you rotters do it in the South? Maybe then she’ll look at me like--”

A glimpse of blonde hair came through the door, and Jaime nearly knocked his knees into the table as he tried to stand. Between the table and Tormund’s hand still firmly grasping him he only managed a half stance. Still, Brienne looked at him with bright eyes and a faint smile tugging at her lips as she started to walk towards him. Until she saw his companion and the smile dulled. She abruptly turned and went to join a place with some of the Mormont men.

Jaime muttered as he sat back down. 

“..like that.” Tormund sighed, looking deflated.

Jaime’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the wildling as the words he had been saying clicked into place. He looked back and forth between where Brienne was sitting and Tormund’s twisted body staring at her.

“You’re talking about Brienne?” he said suddenly, leaning back in his seat in an almost recoil. “You want to...you want to _court_ her?”

“If that’s what you call it, I’ll do it. I’ll wear the fancy leather skirts you all seem to prance around in and do whatever else it is you do. What is it you do? That’s your sword she uses isn’t it? I can give her my axe!”

“No, no, no,” Jaime’s fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose as his head shook. “No. Brienne does not need anybody courting her. Certainly not you.”

Tormund’s hands shot out, the exasperation of a truly desperate man. “Why not? She’s a woman, I’m a man. We’re both warriors. And I can dwarf any of you Southern lot. I’m worth at least two of your little lords. I love her.”

“You don’t even know her!” He nearly growled, causing at least a few of the people around them to look at him. Not Brienne though, her back was stiff and she was staring straight ahead, not making any move to look back at him or the wildling.

“I’m trying to,” Tormund said, “Which is more I can say for any of your lot.”

Jaime’s lips curled into a scowl. The Great Hall had turned suddenly hot and stuffy, his appetite gone. The man had always set Jaime’s nerve’s off but he had blamed it on his roughened northern lack of manners. He wasn’t much different from the other northerners, no finesse or finery to any of them. If he was being honest with himself though, it was more the way Tormund just always happened to be around, leering in the distance, whenever he got to be alone with Brienne.

Being alone with Brienne was such a commodity, her company seemingly always sought after by one person or the other. Her time was always filled with Sansa, or Podrick, and he had expected that. But then it was Arya Stark asking her to spar. Or it was Davos Seaworth regaling her with stories of times he’d docked in Tarth. Or Jon Snow asking for strategic advice. Or some green Knight of the Vale asking for her to train them. None of them, with the exception of Pod, wanted Jaime around so he was always waiting for her to be finished with them so he could have _his_ time with her. And they were more often than not interrupted by Tormund Giantsbane and his wandering eyes until Brienne would give up and retreat to her quarters.

“Fine,” the wildling grumbled. “If you won’t help, I’ll figure it out myself.” Tormund stood, taking stock of Jaime as he did. He looked him up and down, before pulling his own shoulders back, head held high. He started walking away, strutting oddly, in a way that Jaime could only hope was a terribly inaccurate impression of himself. He passed in front of Brienne, showing his teeth to her in a wild grin, preening with his chest out as he continued his swaggering walk. She had the good graces to just stare intensely down at the plate of peas and potato in front of her, while her neck and face turned a very brutal shade of red.

\---

Brienne tried to spend as many free moments as she could in the training yards. It was a bustling time, fighters of all levels trying to sharpen their skills and prepare as best they could for the coming war. There was always somebody around she could throw her time into and busy herself. She tried to do as much as she could to keep from being idle. Idleness meant one of two things: confronting her feelings for Jaime Lannister or confronting Tormund’s feelings for her. Neither scenario was one she particularly cared to find herself a part of.

When Jaime showed up several days before, sans Lannister army but with his honor and duty in tact it was nearly too much for her. Brienne convinced herself that he wasn’t here for _her_ , that he hadn’t ridden all the way North despite the Queen’s objections, _for her_. To fight beside her, _die beside her_ and be with her in what may be their last days. She did her best to stuff the feelings that whirled in her tightened chest every time he came near into a dark, quiet place where she couldn’t contemplate them. Yet she could hardly fight the smile that pulled at her lips when he said a kind word, or just simply stayed close to her, biding his time until they had a moment alone. It was torturous and thrilling and everything she denied herself from wanting. 

Then of course there was Tormund. A harmless man and a good fighter, but relentless in his uncouth tactics. She appreciated Tormund as fighter, maybe as a friend if he would just stop waggling his eyebrows at her long enough to actually have a conversation. He wasn’t terrible to look at either and if she were a different person, one maybe less guarded and unflinching in her ideals, she would feel more flattered. Still, she couldn’t deny that there had been times she let her mind wander to him in the very darkest hours of the night, while she curled beneath her furs, a little lonely and wondering if she wanted to die without knowing all there was to know about living. Even then, thoughts of Tormund would turn into thoughts of Jaime that filled her with both shame and desire. 

It was thoughts like those that drove her to the training yard for hours, hoping to tire herself out so thoroughly that there was no chance to think or dream in sleep. Today she had a group of young ladies, led by the ferocious Lady Mormont, and she was teaching them simple techniques with the short dragonglass daggers that they could hold without struggle.

Jaime had shown up, taking a seat beside Podrick to oil Widow’s Wail. His hand moved slowly across the blade, his concentration more on watching her give her lessons than on the sharpening of his weapon. It made Brienne’s ears tinge red, but she could blame that on the cold.

“MY LAY-DAY!”

The shout made her wince, and when she looked to the far end of the yard, the redness in her ear filled the rest of her face. She could feel the embarrassment flood her whole body, tingling down to her toes that wished her to run very fast and very far from this spot.

“Oh by the Seven,” she heard Jaime mutter somewhere behind her, and Podrick’s choking sputter.

Tormund stood at the bottom of the wooden stairs from one of the battlements. His hair was slicked and combed, his beard oddly twisted and oiled as well. He wore a thin cloak, deep green with gold lining that he swooshed around with a flourish of his hand. His northern furs were gone, and instead soft leather that was tight around his body and a pair of tan riding breeches and leather boots adorned him. The clothing was clearly not his, barely fitting his tall and stocky form. 

“Don’t do this,” Jon bemoaned from behind Tormund, his face hidden behind his palm. The wildling shushed him as his eyes fixated on Brienne. He pranced forward like a deer with a badly injured hoof. Brienne turned from him, eyes wide with horror, and she caught sight of Jaime’s own rifled expression. Some of the girls in the yard began to giggle, but not Lady Mormont who was looking as likely to gut Tormund for interrupting her lesson as Brienne was. 

“My lay-day,” Tormund repeated as he approached her, his voice straining as he tried to keep a proper Westerosi accent. He kneeled in front of Brienne, his battleaxe held in his hands out to her. “I offer you my steel.”

Mortified, Brienne was rooted to the spot, staring at him. “Th-thank you, sir, but I have my own.”

“But my axe is good, it’s a strong weapon! I’ve cut down a million men with it, _at least_ ,” Tormund stood, still holding the axe out so it hit against her chest.

“I’m sure it is, but I like my sword just fine, thank you,” Brienne placed a hand protectively over Oathkeeper’s pummel. This only seemed to confuse Tormund further.

“My lay-day, you can give the sword back to _him_ now, and use _my_ axe. It is not fitting for a maid...a maiden?...a maid?” He looked back at Jon then, a questioning look skewing his face as he struggled for the correct word. Jon was clutching at the fencing of the training yards, eyes wide and wordlessly pleading for Tormund to stop.

“Woman,” Tormund settled on. “It is not fitting for a woman like you are to have an unintended man’s sword. So you can have my axe, and we can be intended.” He nodded his head proudly, remembering the terms from the book he forced Sam to read out to him the night before.

Brienne whirled around to Jaime, eyes aflame. “What did you do?” she asked through gritted teeth. Jaime vaulted over the fencing, trying to temper Brienne’s glare that followed after him with a soft, almost apologetic smile. “This is not my fault,” he muttered through the side of his mouth before coming between her and Tormund.

“Is this not the Southern way?!” Tormund groaned, keeping the axe held forward in one hand while his other tugged at the leather ties of the cloak choking at his neck.

Jaime clapped him on the shoulder, a look on his face that would almost be friendly if it wasn’t for the ire in his green eyes. “You must be confused, Giantsbane. See this sword has my lion sigil, and this sword belt too,” he thumbed at the little lions peppering around Brienne’s waist. “I gave Lady Brienne this fine armor as well. So I think it makes my _intentions_ quite clear.”

Tormund cocked his head, looking between Jaime and Brienne, who had made a strangled sound at Jaime’s exclamation. “Yesterday you said she didn’t need anybody courting her...”

“Yes, well, because I’ve already got it covered. If she’ll have me,” Jaime turned then, her blue eyes appraising him softly.

“Is this what _you_ want?” Tormund asked her, gesturing with his axe at Jaime.

Brienne nodded, knowing that if she spoke any words her voice was likely to crack over them. The same shy smile and faint blush marked her face. Jaime reached his hand out to her, fingers intertwining as the contact blazed between them.

“You could have said something yesterday then,” Tormund muttered, “Could’ve saved me from these blasted boots! My toes are aching!” He wandered back to Jon, ripping the cloak from his shoulders and thrusting it into the King in the North’s open hands. Jon tried to mouth his apologies to Brienne but she wasn’t paying any mind, nor did she notice when Podrick shuffled Lady Mormont and the young ladies away from the yard. 

“Do you mean it?” Brienne asked after the silence grew for too long and all the doubts and japes of years past meandered back into her consciousness. “That you have…intentions? Or were you just getting rid of him?”

Jaime’s fingers tightened around hers, dragging her hand to rest over his chest before pulling them up to his lips. He brushed a kiss gently across her knuckles, looking up from beneath his lashes at her as if that was an answer. Her expression didn’t change, her emotions half stolen behind a fortress built over years of rejections. Jaime sighed but grinned at her, a lifetime of wolfish charm behind the smile. He let her hand go, bringing his up to cradle the back of her neck, his golden hand holding steady at her hip, just above Oathkeeper. Pressing onto his tip toes he reached up to caress the barest of kisses to her lips, anticipating the way her body would still in shock. He tried again, pressing further into her, the kiss deepening as she melted against him.

When he released her, Jaime trailed soft kisses across her cheek so he could whisper in her ear. “I came to this frozen wasteland for you, and my intention is to go wherever you lead, _my_ lady.”

A million questions and thoughts raced through Brienne’s mind. She wanted so much to tell him all that she was feeling but she found none of the words were quite as adequate as taking his face between her large, gentle hands and kissing him. She kissed him and kissed him, leading them across the yard until his back was against the door of the armory, and his arms were wrapped around him tightly.

**Author's Note:**

> I truly love Tormund, and I'm sorry I made him suffer for his passions. Maybe it would work out in a different world, but it's just not going to happen if Jaime is around :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Hope it made you laugh!


End file.
